Her father’s sudden appearance had startled her, too, for though no words had passed between father and daughter, she knew that her mother had already repeated the tale of her romance and of its sudden termination. She tried to speak in reply to Mr. Loring’s question, but no words would come and after a silence burdened with meaning she heard Phil Gallatin speaking.
“It means, Mr. Loring,” he was saying steadily, “that I love your daughter—that I hope, some day, to ask her to be my wife.”
Loring came into the room, his eyes contracted, his bull neck thrust forward, his face suffused with blood.
“You want to marry my daughter? You! I think you’re mistaken.” He stopped and peered at one and then the other. “I’ve heard something about you, Mr. Gallatin,” he said more calmly. “Your ways seem to be crossing mine more frequently than I like.”
“I hardly understand you,” said Gallatin clearly.
“I’ll try to make my meaning plain. We needn’t discuss at once the relations between you and my daughter. Whatever they’ve been or are now, they’re less important than other matters.”
“Other matters!” Gallatin exclaimed. Jane had straightened and came forward, aware of some new element in her father’s antipathy. Loring glanced at her and went on.
“For some weeks past I’ve been aware of the activity of certain interests that you or your pettifogging little firm represent in regard to the plans of the Pequot Coal Company. I’ve followed your movements with some curiosity and read the letters you’ve written to the New York office with not a little amazement.”
“You have read them?”
“Yes, I. I am the Pequot Coal Company, Mr. Gallatin.”